Paramnesia
by phollie
Summary: A wrongful execution. A case of desperation. Betrayal and forbidden relations, all occurring behind a veil of a parallel world, in which what you are is what will kill you on the other side. Dark AU. LxMisaxLight. MelloxMatt. Rating will change.
1. Chapter 1

**This fic revolves around a single theory: a parallel universe. I wanted to try incorporating that into a fanfic, and it just kind of erupted into my mind until I had to write it. **

**A few things you should know before we dive into this acid trip of a fic.**

**A parallel universe is the idea that there are more existances than the one that we know and live in. There can be many different versions of yourself throughout these parallel universes…thus spawning this rather trippy idea for a story. I also wanted to try out some darker alter egos for our dear Death Note cast…including L, whom I'm very giddy to write. ::hearts::**

**I just hope I can pull it off. **

**The pairings are…um. Quite a few. LxMisa, RaitoxMisa, MelloxMatt, Nearx…someone. **

**The rating of this fic will change in time from T to M for lemony goodness. Hope you don't mind.**

**Ahem. So without further ado, here is **_**Paramnesia.**_

**I don't own Death Note.**

…

_Paramnesia: a distortion of memory in which fact and fancy are confused._

…

1

Rain. It is an indigo sheet over the village, washing away the grime from the rooves, the eroded siding of the rows of homes, the very soil that a young blonde child's feet sink into.

He wears no shirt, having disposed of the threadbare article by his toes in a pocket of mud, and his eyes are narrowed up at the angry sky, dark with the mounting storm. He once heard one of the townsfolk say that his eyes are like the rain; cold, heavy, just a few degrees above ice.

Something is wrong. Mihael Keehl knows this, perhaps better than anyone in the entire village. Deep within his mind, there is something curling, white-hot, the cogs of his brain twirling and rotating until he feels his knees give out from the strain. Skin hits soaked earth, yet his eyes remain fixed upwards.

_The execution…_

The rain falls harder. It is almost painful upon his bare flesh, but Mihael bites upon his bottom lip and stares it down, challenging it, prepared to fight. He is twelve-years-old; he is too old to feel pain in this village.

_They can't…no, they wouldn't…_

But the siren is sounded only three seconds following his thought. They _can, _and they _will_, and Mihael Keehl digs his nails into the soil beneath his knees, closes his eyes, stiffens his spine.

And screams.

…

"Damn…do you think we'll get a tornado or something?"

Matt has to shout over the noise of the storm swirling beyond the bedroom's open window. It is not entirely the rain that overpowers his voice; the radio is blaring atop the nightstand, spitting out a song neither Matt nor Mello have heard before. Nevertheless, Matt nods his head in time to the drums, his hair wet from the downfall crawling through the window.

Mello grunts in reponse, resting his chin on his fist. "You're an idiot," he mutters. "Tornadoes don't hit England, stupid."

"You sure?" Matt points out the window, up at the swelling sky, and looks at Mello with wide green eyes. "It sure as hell looks like it. Maybe it'll be a hurricane!"

Mello serves his friend a light wallop to the back of his auburn head. "It's just a storm. Now chill out, will you? Roger would have made an annoucement by now if it was anything ser-" He cuts his sentence off when he sees Matt hop up onto the windowsill, a silly grin on his face. "What the hell are you doing?" he orders.

"Come on!" Matt waves his arm to beckon Mello to join him before he peers his head outside, glances down at the crown of roof below, and steps out onto it, holding onto the windowpane. "You coming? Same way we sneak out all the time, you know? Out on the roof, down the little slope thingy-"

"I know what you're talking about, moron," Mello snaps before he grabs the hood of his jacket, pulling it over his blonde hair. "Let's go."

He is uncertain as to why Matt is so determined to greet this storm in particular, but he knows better than to chicken out on his best friend, of all people. Mello grimaces at the idea of the mockery he would be served if he chose to stay dry inside instead of trekking out, bending the rules, the things that he and his comrade have grown so skilled at, and he steps out onto the roof close behind the redhead.

The downpour sears upon his shoulders, the material of his jacket soaking through almost immediately, and the impact of the heavy droplets is on the verge of bringing pain, but Mello narrows his crystal eyes and walks along the roof carefully. Twelve-year-olds, especially those of Mello's caliber, know better than to admit weakness.

They orphans make their way to the generous slope in the roof that will bring them a safe distance from the ground, and Mello follows Matt in leaping down, landing roughly on his feet. He hears Matt curse beneath his breath when his ankle twists awkwardly upon his jump and furrows his fair brows. "You alright?"

Matt jerks his head up to look at him, chuckling oddly. He gives Mello a flamboyant thumbs-up and regains his footing, his hair dripping into his eyes. "You know better than to ask me that, Mel," the boy quips.

Even though his companion looks like a fool standing beneath the violent rainfall, his darkened hair completely shielding his forehead and eyes, thumb still pinned up in the air, Mello cracks a smile and gives him a shove on the arm. "Yeah, don't get too bigheaded about it. Now why the hell did you bring me out here?"

Matt looks momentarily outraged. "What do you mean 'why'?" He throws his hands up to the scowling sky with majesty. "Look at it! Do you know how often the sky looks like _that_?" He looks to Mello expectantly, whom stands nearby, bored. "This isn't a normal storm, Mel! This is…this is-"

"What, Matt?" Mello jeers. "Magic?"

Matt's eyes brighten, as if Mello has struck the correct note in their debate, but Mello cackles and shakes his head. "It's a _storm_. Big deal. The weather channel said we were going to get one today anyway." He turns his back to Matt, crossing his arms bitterly. "And the sky only looks like that because of the-"

His words are cut off as swiftly as the air shifts around his person. He freezes, rooted to the ground, the oxygen in his lungs stopping short as he tries to inhale.

_Wh-what's happening…?_

Knees giving out beneath him, Mello falls to the sopping ground, his eyes wired straight ahead, outwards to the endless fields stretching out beyond Wammy's gates.

All he sees is rain. Rain so heavy and so threatening that it could be lethal.

He faintly hears Matt frantically speaking to him through the rushing in his ears, but he cannot respond. Mello reaches down to the soil to support himself from falling, his nails digging into the mud.

_I…_

What is happening to him? Vertigo, déjà vu, sheer insanity, he does not know…this all feels too familiar, but it spans out past his understanding to a much more distant place, one that he finds himself both terrified and breathless at.

Mello cannot recall feeling fear in such a raw, stripped form in all of his twelve years. There is anger laced somewhere in the rush, but the _fear_ overrides all cognizant thought. He buries his nails deeper into the soil, squeezing his eyes shut, battling against the overwhelming surge in his bloodstream.

And just like that, it is all over.

Mello's eyes snap open, surveying his surroundings in a panicked flurry. He sees that Matt is gaping down at him, the rain fanning out around his form in a white mist. "What the hell was…?" he breathes out, reaching down to help Mello up. Mello, however, irritably smacks his hand away, humiliated at his own loss of control. "I'm fine," he barks, getting back upon his feet. "And I'm going back inside, whether you like it or not."

"But, Mel-"

Mello whips around violently, fists trembling. "You tell anyone about that and I swear I'll-"

"Ok," Matt says quickly. "I won't."

His voice is tight, shaky, but Mello ignores it and turns sharply on his heel in search of the nearest door. He clenched his waterlogged fists, his mind desperately trying to settle itself from the tide it had been swept under, but he stopped in his tracks and took a slow look over his shoulder at where he had been struck by seemingly nothing.

_What just happened back there…?_

…

The execution had been scheduled for a week later before the evidence was collected in a swift rush.

The prisoner, a young woman with golden hair falling like satin down her shoulders, is led to the front of the execution ceremony. Her crime is kept entirely secret from the common folk of the village, but in the front of the audience, arms crossed over his chest, Yagami Raito knows.

Fiona Keehl, the filthiest prostitute in the entire town. Raito looks upon the woman with disgust as she clears her throat, raises shaking fingers to the ribbon around her neck. She unties it, gently floating to the ground of the platform.

The audience is growing impatient by now. They squirm around in the confined space, an excited buzz suspended over their heads, as the striking young woman bows her head, preparing to speak. "M-my fellow p-people…I wish to atone for the s-sins that have corrupt our village, as well as m-my own body and-"

"Just off her already!" someone shouts from within the quivering crowd. Raito turns his head slightly to look at the townsfolk around him, observing the manner in which the others rally the woman on to speed up her final speech. He looks back up at Fiona Keehl, soon to be lifeless upon the ground with a smooth glide of the blade held by the Master of Ceremonies, standing stiffly by her right.

Fiona squeezes her eyes shut and opens her mouth to speak again. "A-as well as my own body and spirit. I wish to apologize to those I have offended, as well as to the god I have b-betrayed, and I-"

The execution is carried out so suddenly that even Raito is taken back. The blade has been swung, the woman's head lobbed off effortlessly, and the wobbling body collapses to the ground, a grand finale to its worthless life.

Even still, Raito cannot help but feel a twitch of a smile as the village erupts in cheers.

…

**So I hope you get what I'm aiming for. Lol.**

**All feedback is appreciated! It really keeps me going.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Another acid-esque chapter.**

**There is an OC introduced here by the name of Hinata Kozakura. If anyone notes who she truly is in the parallel world, I will send so many cyber-cakes that you will implode.**

**Don't own Death Note, guys.**

…

2

One of the orphan children picks up word of the execution on her way back from the village shopping district.

By now, the entirety of the town is chattering and spinning lengthy anecdotes of Fiona Keehl's death; the graceful swing of the blade, her severed speech, the stunned gasps and cheers from the throats of the audience at her feet. The surreal news, having unwillingly made it to her ears in the midst of swiping an apple from a stand, has caused her to drop her loot and flee back to the orphanage as fast as her spindly legs will carry her.

Heaving and wheezing, Hinata Kozakura threads in and out of the throng of townspeople, the damp earth staining her feet and ankles. Her tiny fists are clenched, pushing her onward, and the orphanage appears within her sight, tucked away within tall trees of green and dying brown. The dirt path invites her in, and she sprints harder.

The village orphanage is a sloppy assortment of brick and bamboo, lacking windows and reaching only two stories high. The children beneath its flat roof range from newborns to teenagers, their parents dead or careless, but the crumbling walls are only just enough to keep out the weather and wind. It is a tired old building with an equally exhausted front door that Hinata flings open, and she darts down the narrow corridor, lungs screaming behind her ribs. The children she passes stare at her curiosly, their eyes a dark blur, and Hinata runs until she meets the desired office.

Without knocking, she opens the door and throws herself into the room. "Mr. Watari! I've just heard about-"

She stops when she sees that the white-haired man is trying to contain a scrawny blonde boy, whom is lashing about in his arms like a serpent. He is howling like an animal, shouting words that Hinata knows she would be whipped for if she tried to get away with them. She takes a startled step back when Watari glances over his shoulder at her. "Hinata," he addresses, his voice somehow remaining steady, "please return to your room immediately."

Hinata's eyes are glued onto the boy, seething and boiling like magma in such a frail body, but she does not move. "But-"

"_Hinata_."

This distraction is enough to serve the boy with a chance of escape, and he goes flying out of Watari's arms and barreling towards the door that Hinata stands at. He is a violent parade of golden hair and fire in his limbs as he shoves past her and flits down the corridor, leaving a trail of water from his wet hair behind him. He takes the bend in the hallway and is out of sight.

Hinata, shocked, turns back to Watari. He is adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, looking down at the floor with a sort of calm that she does not grasp. "Mr. Watari?" she asks softly. "Why were you two fighting? You and that boy?"

Watari's face is grave and weathered as he meets her dark eyes. "We were not fighting, Hinata." He approached her and places a warm hand on her shoulder, his eyes returning to their natural state; kind, tender, paternal.

Hinata stares up at him desperately. "But where will he go? What if it starts raining again?"

Watari gives her a small, tender smile. "I have already assigned caretakers to be outside the orphanage in case of something like this. He will be safe, I assure you." He removes his hand from her shoulder and pats her gently on the back. "Now, what did you run in here for before?"

Hinata hesitates, the memory of the gossip downtown returning to her brain in a nauseating flush. She looks around timidly before leaning in to Watari. "They're killing people downtown," she whispers. "I heard them talking about it in the shops. They killed a lady with a big blade thing, and people went to watch and everything!"

Meanwhile, Watari freezes, his jaw tightening, but Hinata continues.

"They said that she did evil things, but no one knows what. A bunch of people were talking about it, and I heard everything but I don't know why anyone would-"

"Did you hear the woman's name, Hinata?" Watari asks suddenly.

Hinata takes a step back to survey the man's face; his eyes are wide, his skin paled, whitewashed. She gives him a small nod, confused by his shocked expression. "Fiona Keehl."

Watari remains stationary in his stance for a moment, the same confusing expression on his face, but he comes back to reality and turns away quickly, walking down the corridor. "Please return to your room for now, Hinata. I will speak with you on this matter later tonight."

His voice is urgent, but not as imperative as his steps are away from Hinata as she stands in the doorway of his office, gazing at him in bewilderment.

The boy's eyes had reminded her of the rain.

…

"Misa."

"Go away!"

"Misa-san, this is ridiculous. You're doing nothing but furthering your agitation on your own, as well as-"

"Leave me alone!"

It has been a game of who will give up first for over half an hour, with Misa Amane sitting on the floor behind the bathroom door, locking out both L and Light on the other side. L is crouched upon the floor, negotiating with a lockpick courtesy of Watari's making in the small keyhole of the door. "As I said before, Light-kun," L says tiredly, twisting the pick, "I greatly admire your ways of dealing with women."

Light scoffs irritably as he leans against the door, arms crossed over his chest. "You're an ass, Ryuzaki," he mutters. "If you were any better than me, you'd have the door open by now."

Just as he finishes his sentence, L feels the lock give way and he twists the knob, glancing up at Light with an asinine grin. "Like so?"

Light shoots him a lethal look of his chestnut eyes and nudges open the door, only to be shoved back when Misa throws her body weight against the frame with a squeel. "Get out!" she orders. "I don't want to see either of you!"

"Misa, come on." Light pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "Don't say a damn thing, Ryuzaki."

L smiles wickedly, placing the lockpick in the pocket of his jeans. "I was planning on it? Well, I'm certainly glad you stopped me, Light-kun."

"Shut _up_, god dammit…"

L releases a sigh and reaches for the doorknob again, turning it and pushing open the door in spite of the weight Misa has pressed against it. He peeks his head around the doorframe and sees that Misa is still crying, even after all the time spent within the bathroom to herself. He does not understand the girl's emotions as clearly as what is appropriate for L, of all people, but he shrugs off the thought and closes the door against the chain that binds he and Light together.

Misa jerks her head up to look at him, eyes blazing with a fury that is no match for L's apathy. "What are you doing in here?" she demands hoarsely. "I said for you to leave me alone!"

"But that would require my surveillance of you and Light-kun to be lessened, which in no means may happen," L says in monotone. "You fail at understanding that you are indeed a _suspect_, Misa-san."

"I don't care," Misa spits out. She lifts her hands up to smooth her blonde hair, catching her ragged breath with shuddering spasms.

"That makes one of us, which sadly is not enough," L drones. "I, unlike you, _do_ care about how this case is solved, which means that-"

"Well, _I_, unlike you, have a life!" Misa blurts out, getting to her feet quickly and staring him straight in the eye. Her china doll face is flushed and splotched with red from her weeping, her lips swollen and pouted, and even though L is waiting for her to spit another phrase out at him, she seems to be doing the same to him.

He takes his cue and does not lighten his gaze upon her face. "Which has been reduced to standing in a bathroom throwing a tantrum because you can't get what you want," L explains softly. "You are under the very strong suspicion of being the second Kira, Misa-san, in case you have forgotten."  
"I haven't forgotten!" Misa hisses. She narrows her eyes fiercely, clenching her petite fists into tight little knots, the rouge nails digging into her palms.

L makes a quiet turn on his heel and reopens the door. "Then please do not speak to me of lives when the one you lead is one of a possible murderer, Misa-san."

He hears her take in a sharp breath behind him before he exits the bathroom. "Do come back out on your own time, of course," he says airily to the girl glaring daggers at his back.

…

_It's raining again, Amane…_

Amane will not think about the gossip. The woman was not executed just two hours ago. If she ignores it, just as she is doing for the rain, it will dissipate and vanish into an ugly dust.

She sings quietly to herself over the mournful sound of rainfall against helpless ground.

…

There is a light hand on Hinata's shoulder once she has eaten dinner, and she turns her head quickly to see Watari standing behind her.

"There is someone that wishes to speak with you, Hinata," he informs quietly.

At the fearful widening of her eyes and the excited buzzing of the children around her, eager for scandal, Watari gives her a small smile of reassurance. "You are by no means in trouble, Hinata."

This is all he needs to say for her to stand up wordlessly and follow him out of the cafeteria, playing nervously with the fraying cuff of her dressing robe.

_Where did that boy go…? And who wants to talk to me…? Maybe it's about the boy…or maybe that lady that everyone downtown keeps talking about…or maybe I really am in trouble and Mr. Watari isn't telling me…or maybe-_

Her panicked train of thought has caused her to bump into Watari, whom has stopped in front of a door. She mutters out a shy apology, but Watari does not hear her and gives a generous rap on the door. A male's voice, one she has not heard before, comes from the other side. "Yes" is all he says, not a question nor a statement, more of a monotonous utterance that Hinata tilts her head at, perplexed. Watari opens the door before she can ask questions, and she sees the stranger in full view.

The young man stands in the center of the room, barefooted, his hands hidden in the deep pockets of his dressing robe, the black material matching the dark ink of his hair. It is overgrown and unkempt, concealing much of his eyes, but Hinata sees that they are a weighty charcoal hue that she has never seen before.

She has also never known that one's eyes could possess shadowed rings hanging heavily beneath them. Shadows are for her room at night while she dangles on the edge of sleep, or when the shifting of the sun gives off relieving shade on a bright afternoon. Yet, somehow, his eyes are as dark and provoking as any shadow that Hinata has ever seen.

She is fascinated by him within seconds; in all her nine years of life, she has never seen someone be so pale yet so dark at the same time. She once heard someone say the word "paradox" during one of her lessons; she thinks that it suits him and confirms it with a nod.

"This is Lawliet, Hinata," Watari explains. "He is one of the caretakers for grade seven. He grew up at this orphanage, just like you are."

Meanwhile, Lawliet does not move. Instead, he stares at her blankly from a distance, no readable expression that a nine-year-old can decipher on his face. His tall, lean form gives her the allusion that his dressing robe is swallowing him whole, drowning in soft black silk. Hinata furrows her brow in wonder, curious as to why he is not greeting her and Watari like any other capable human being would, and leans over to the latter with her hand shielding her mouth. "Is he going to say anything, Mr. Watari?" she whispers. She is confident that Lawliet will not hear.

Watari clears his throat and closes the door behind them. "Lawliet," he addresses, "do explain why you wished to speak with her."

Lawliet's odd grey eyes flit up to Watari briefly before his gaze lowers to the floor. There is a long silence before he removes one magnolia hand from the pocket of his robe and scratches the back of his head. "Have we secured the boy?" he asks, presumably to Watari. His voice is like chilled velvet, gentle, crisp upon skin.

"No," Watari says quietly. "He managed to elude the other caretakers that we set up out front after we found him the first time."

Lawliet's expression remains solid, but Hinata notices his jaw tighten slightly. "I take it that there is no current search for him as is."

"What makes you say that?"

At this, Lawliet releases a sigh and walks over to the wall, sinking down and crouching on the floor. "Then I was correct. You would have denied it if I was wrong," he says lazily.

Hinata has not taken her eyes off this young man for the entirety of the visit. _He has shadows in his eyes…I never knew that people could have those…_

"Nevertheless," Lawliet states, "I do need to speak with Hinata-kun alone for a moment, Watari."

While Hinata's stomach flips at the remark, Watari nods and leaves the room, closing the door softly upon his exit. Hinata stares at the Lawliet figure with her toes turned in, looking at him with a sheepish earnesty that comes with her supreme enthrallment by him. He is sitting like a cat against the wall. A black cat with a ghostly white face.

"You were in town today."

"Yes," Hinata says quickly. "Yes, I was."

"And you heard something that frightened you." Lawliet tilts his head, much like Hinata's fashion of doing so. "What exactly was it?"

Hinata tugs at her cuff harder, suddenly nervous with his questioning. "I, um…I heard about a lady dying. Somebody killed her in front of a bunch of people."

"An execution," Lawliet says as-a-matter-of-factly.

When Hinata does not respond, Lawliet stands up and walks towards her, causing her to take a cautious step back. He is still a stranger, one with eyes that disturb her to the point of trembling; if he gets too close, she is sure that the shadow will leap from his eyes and cloud over hers. At her step, Lawliet gives her a puzzled look that leaves just as quickly as it arrives. He stops in his tracks and scratches his head again. "I may need your assistance, Hinata-kun."

Hinata regains the step she lost earlier. "You want me to…help you?"

"You may call it as you wish." Lawliet returns his hand to the pocket of his robe and looks back down at the floor. "I would like you to lead me to where you heard about the young woman dying, Hinata-kun. Tomorrow morning after your first lesson. Does this sound agreeable to you?" He glances up at her now, suddenly appearing childlike before the actual child. Hinata nods as if there is another option for her and begins to back up to the door. "I-it's fine. I can do that," she utters.

Lawliet gives her a light nod and turns his back to her, his spine slightly hunched. "Very well, then," he says softly. "Feel free to return to what you were doing before."

Hinata gives a speedy nod in return and darts out the door she has flung open, but pauses and looks back into the room at Lawliet. "And why do your eyes look like that, by the way?"

Lawliet turns around, his eyes in question now wide and taken back. "What?"

Hinata blushes, seeing that he does not catch onto what she is asking, and shakes her head rapidly before fleeing to her room.

…

Mihael is running as fast as he can, but he does not know what or who he is running from at all. It is as though there is too much energy in his body, and that slowing down will only magnify the effect.

_They won't get me…no, I won't let them…they're not caging me up anywhere at a-_

He is forced to stop when his knees give out, sending him tumbling to the ground and smacking his chin in a mud puddle. The scent of earth fills his nose, as well as soiled water and embarrassment at falling, even with no one around. He jerks his head up, looks around frantically, but groans and tries to stand up. A fit of pain shoots up his leg, and a quick, agitated glance down at his knee shows that it is scraped down to raw flesh, bleeding and stinging obscenely. Mihael curses beneath his breath and slumps down onto the ground, furious with his own injury holding him back from _running_.

_I have to get out of here…before they find me and put me in that place for good…_

A light tapping on his shoulder sends his head whipping to the side, irate at whoever has discovered him. He prepares to run, prepares for a fresh tide of adults trying to coax him to come with them, but instead sees a boy that appears to be around his age with hair the color of cherrywood and a wide, open face. A shred of bark rests between his teeth as he looks down at him with bright green eyes. Mihael backs up, alarmed at the friendly gaze, and sees the boy grin. "You a runaway, too?"

Mihael makes no response, but staggers up to his feet and glares at him. The boy seems oblivious to the fire in his eyes and walks towards him, the bark hanging lazily out of the corner of his mouth. "You sure look angry," he says cheerfully. "Must be because of that fall, right? Don't worry, I didn't laugh at you or any-"

"Who the hell are you?" Mihael demands hoarsely. He lunges at the boy, expecting him to jump back in alarm, but it has no effect. This only angers him more and slaps a scowl on his muddy face.

The boy outstretches his hand to Mihael flamboyantly and says, "Mail Jeevas, stranger."

And like a water clock going off in the sky, it begins to rain yet again.

…

Misa does not speak to Ryuzaki or Light once she returns from the bathroom, her cheeks successfully repowdered, her eyes soaked with cold rags to ease the swelling her tears have brought her. Her back is to both men as she sits by the window of the makeshift headquarters, one graceful leg crossed perfectly over the other, arms crossed.

_Stupid Ryuzaki…_

She hears the humdrum clacking of typing behind her, coming from Ryuzaki judging by its droll endlessness, and scowls deeper. _Stupid, stupid Ryuzaki…_

To ease the awful silence, she sings softly to the rain falling outside the window, pretending that it is her raging audience, cheering and screaming her name before it hits the ground, only to be followed by millions more.

Something in Misa's heart turns cold at the end of her first lyric.

_The rain…I…_

Her heart is pounding in her ears, each noise around her muffled in comparison to her own frantic pulse. She remains rooted to her chair, numb to the world around her; it seems as though all her mind can focus on are two things.

The rain, and the black-haired man across the room. Ryuzaki. The rain. Falling, falling, pouring down upon Misa's head as if the roof above her has caved in, leaving her exposed and threatened. Ryuzaki, rain, rain, rain, black, rain…

Just before she opens her mouth to beg for help from anyone that will care, the switch is flicked, the spinning now at a standstill. Misa becomes aware that her hands are gripping the sides of the chair, her scarlet nails digging into the upholstery, and she slowly loosens her grip and shakily rests her hands on her lap.

She turns her head to look at Ryuzaki, whom crouches in his computer chair, completely unacquainted and unmindful to whatever has just gripped Misa by the throat and wrung her out like a dishrag, leaving her sweating and confused sitting by the rain-streaked window.

_Oh, stop it, he's a freak anyway, you already know that…you're just tired, that's all…stupid Ryuzaki…_

Misa vows to catch a few extra hours of sleep that night and breezily forgets about it.

…

**Reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A little side note; Hinata is not based off of Naruto. Lmao. I actually had no idea that there was a character named Hinata, I thought I made it up. xD**

**I do not own Death Note, but I do own these really awesome kneesocks that I wore while writing this…**

…

3

Hinata does not sleep that hot, sticky night. She sits upright in bed, the cool sheet draped over her white shoulders, and wishes for a window to open, to distract herself with.

One in the morning, the clock reads, and her tiny hands shake into close fists. She will take the man with the darkness in his eyes to town today.

…

The weather is ironically bright and serene the next morning, and Mello is unsure of whether to scowl or appreciate it. It mocks the previous day's violent downpour and drinks up the puddles with a feverish thirst until the ground is only damp with the memory of rain.

The orphanage is so heavily adorned with windows that the cafeteria is washed in gold. Small flecks of dust that drift by the rays of sunlight turn a warm amber, glittering past Mello's eyes as his breakfast goes cold on the table. Just as he lifts his hand to catch one on his fingertip, bored and distracted, Matt nudges him as he sits down. "Why aren't you eating? You look all…spacey."

Mello keeps his eyes on the amber particles but twists his mouth intil a scowl. "Maybe I'm just not in the mood to eat, Matt," he mutters bitterly.

"I don't know how can do that, Mel," Matt says as he chews a mouthful of pancakes. "Best time of the day for me is when I eat, that's what I've always thought."

Mello succeeds in landing one of the bedazzled flecks on the tip of his pointed finger, but quickly grows bored with the sport, the magic of the sight gone now that he has touched it. A memory stirs in his mind and he promptly turns to Matt. "By the way." He serves him a hard punch to the boy's arm and relishes the yelp that Matt makes, his mouth full with food.

Matt swallows hard, his green eyes wide and demanding of an explanation. "What was that for?" he asks, his voice rising an octave in his outrage.

Mello lifts his black pant leg and exposes a harsh scrape on his knee, pointing to it for dramatic effect. "If you hadn't been such a moron and made me outside with you yesterday, I wouldn't have gotten this."

"But when the hell did you get that?"

The memory, cold and bristled with fresh disturbance, pushes its way to the front of Mello's mind. The breathless fear, the weakening of his legs, the mud beneath his fingernails; it all sweeps through him at the recollection, but he scoffs and looks down at his food to shake it off. "Never mind," he grumbles.

Matt, however, either does not care or does not hear him, for his mouth gapes open in realization as he nods his auburn head animatedly. "That's right! When you fell yesterday! What was that all about anyway?"

Mello narrows his eyes and spears a clump of eggs on his tray with the prongs of his fork. "I just fell, alright? Drop it already."

"No, you didn't just fall, Mel," Matt attests. "You got all white in the face and looked like you couldn't breathe, and-"

"Shut _up_, Matt!"

Mello has risen from the table, his blonde hair a golden flash over his eyes, and he is stomping out of the cafeteria before Matt is given the chance to redeem himself.

…

Hinata takes the gold for most conflicted nine-year-old as she stands outside Lawliet's door.

Should she walk right in? She she knock? What if he is not inside? What if she is too early? But surely she cannot be too early, seeing as he clearly told her to be here after her first lesson, and this is the same place she first met him yesterday…but perhaps the entire plan is one grand misunderstanding, and that she was supposed to come another day, another time, another-

"Hinata-kun."

His voice! Hearing it behind her at such a close distance comes as such a shock that Hinata yelps, darts around and covers her mouth with her tiny hand. Even seeing him instead of a monster looming over her does not calm her jittering, for his appearance has the same effect on her as it did yesterday. She gapes at his curious eyes and is jumpy, transfixed. "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Lawliet, I didn't know you were right there waiting and I thought you would be in the office and I was going to knock but…"

Her small voice wanders off, and Lawliet is staring down at her oddly, head tilted, dark hair hanging over one equally dark eye. "You are indeed a nervous child, aren't you, Hinata-kun."

The fact that he has not even stated it as a question is enough for Hinata to take it as being true, and she wipes her palms off on her robe timidly. "I don't…I don't really know, Mr. Lawliet," she says with a shrug. And before she can even think it through, she states, "You just scare me a little."

She is stunned by her audacity the second it leaves her lips, which melts into humiliation, which freezes into stuttering apologies scattering from her mouth as quickly as the thought had. As she spins off excuses for her tasteless remark, she sees that the pale corners of Lawliet's lips are curling up in a small, amused smile, which ends her rambling with a fresh bout of confusion. "Mr. Lawliet…?"

Just as the man in question turns around and begins walking off, back hunched over, assuming that the girl will follow, he gives a soft chuckle and says, "And perhaps you scare me a little as well, Hinata-kun."

…

"Light-kun."

God, that _voice_. It already grates at Light's nerves, even with just the declaration of his name. The fact that Ryuzaki just assumes that it will demand his attention, because he really has no other choice; the man would continue repeating it jadedly until he would be forced to grit his teeth and respond anyway.

"Ryuzaki," Light replies tightly. His fingers are flying over the keyboard in search of more leads regarding Yotsuba, doing what he is _supposed_ to be doing instead of conversing freely with the shifty detective chained to him, so he does not look over at him. He could do without the extra annoyance of those eyes accusing him with every glance.

There is the faint clammer of Ryuzaki setting his fork upon his plate of cake, and Light bites upon his tongue in agitation. "I believe I will apologize to Misa-san in a moment," he says, his mouth obviously full since the words are slurred and thick.

Light only sends him a fleeting glance out the corner of his eye. His tone of voice is the same as usual; airy, curious, droning. "Good for you," he says irritably. "But you should actually do it instead of telling me about it, Ryuzaki."

"Would you have preferred me to do so without telling you and dragging you along on the floor, Light-kun?" Ryuzaki asks dryly. He jerks his wrist up, causing the chain to tug on Light's wrist disturbingly. "I thought it would only be polite to inform you before I did so. This chain has a bothersome habit of pulling along whoever is attached to it, which means that-"

"I get it, Ryuzaki!" Light projects.

"Excellent!" Ryuzaki hops up off his chair, resulting in a swift pull of the chain that sends Light nearly stumbling to the floor. Light is forced to look at him now through blazing eyes, trying to reassemble his calm and the creases of his clothing, and he sees that dastardly intense triumph in Ryuzaki's cold eyes at being able to rumple the boy up a little.

Nevertheless, he is still being dragged along as Ryuzaki idles away in search of Misa Amane.

…

The boy who calls himself Mail Jeevas takes Mihael to a cornfield; why, he hasn't the faintest clue, but he appreciates the rest and lays down in the tall crops to study the sky.

"I come here a lot," the auburn-haired boy says, taking something out of his pocket and placing it in his mouth. "The man who owns the farm doesn't know, though, so if we see him, we're out of here, okay?"

Mihael turns his scraggly head to look at whatever Mail is chewing. "What're you eating?" Truth be told, he is starving, and if the boy has any food he will gladly pummel him for it.

Mail is leaning back on his elbows, his sunburned nose pointed up at the clouds. "I can't eat chewing tobacco," he says with a laugh. "You want some?"

Mihael scrunches his nose in both disgust and disappointment in it not being real food, and sits up promptly to look at him. "That sounds gross," he mutters, rubbing his stomach. "You got anything to eat?"

The boy scratches the back of his messy head, thinking upon something, but he suddenly jumps up and begins prancing through the field from the way they came. He glances over his shoulder at a bewildered Mihael and calls out, "You coming?"

Mihael does not know what this boy is, standing beneath the bright sun with a cheshire grin on his sunburnt face, but he realizes that at this moment, he has nowhere better to go. He stands up with a grimace and catches up with Mail as they flit back to the heart of the village.

…

"You're…what?"

Misa stands in the middle of her given room, her hairbrush hoisted in midair above her damp hair as she gapes at Ryuzaki, clueless.

_He's…saying he's sorry…? _

Yes, that is exactly it, which is why Misa stares at Ryuzaki with a blankness that challenges his own dark stare. The chain attached to his wrist holds Light on the other end, but his gaze wanders around the room with such a lack of interest that she briefly plays with the thought of changing up the room, making it more amiable to him…perhaps some new sheets, maybe something pretty to put on the walls…

"I am apologizing, Misa-san," Ryuzaki repeats, catching her attention again. "My comment yesterday was inappropriate and rude, and therefore I feel that it would only be in my best taste to-"

"Your comment?" Misa asks in confusion. She tilts her head and thinks upon what he could possibly mean; her mind is fuzzy in regards to what occurred before singing to the rain, as if it has been replaced with a blank, off-white slate of vacuity. "What was it?"

Even Ryuzaki looks confused for a moment, and Misa sees Light stifle what appears to be a laugh. "In saying it again, Misa-san," Ryuzaki begins slowly, "I would do nothing but repeat the offense and cause you more distress, wouldn't you agree?"

Just to save the time and trouble in asking him to elaborate, Misa simply drags her brush through her hair and nods, beaming at him. "Yes!" she says cheerfully, giving him a thumbs-up with her free hand.

"I think Misa-san is confused," Ryuzaki mumbles behind the thumb that is playing with his bottom lip.

"I am not!" Misa objects, placing her hand on her hip. "Ryuzaki-san has come to say that he is sorry for what he said! What's there not to get?"

She watches as one smarmy corner of Ryuzaki's lips curl into a small smirk, but he gives her a nod and tugs upon the chain that connects him to Light. "Then consider my deed done," he says with a calm finality. He begins leading Light out of the room, but Misa suddenly leaps forward in hopes of catching the brunette by the arm. She grazes against his back when he turns, however, and Light glances over her shoulder at her. "Yeah?"

Ryuzaki is looking at her as well, which is unnerving in its own sense (she hates his eyes; they are so lifeless that he reminds her of the old ghost films that used to frighten her out of sleep as a child), but Misa shrugs him off and focuses on catching Light's lips in an impromptu kiss, quick and soft on his warm, closed mouth. When she pulls away, she serves him a smile and lets her hand linger on his shoulder, but Light is looking down at the floor. She finds this charming; shy boys have such a hold on her, especially with lips like _those_.

But Ryuzaki is still peering at her, to the point in which it is unusual even for him, but Misa's eyes quickly avert from his with a disheartened frown as the two men turn to leave. She strolls over to her bed and elegantly stretches across it, brushing her hair with the frown still heavy on her pink lips. _Stupid Ryuzaki…_that's_ something you should be apologizing for…_

…

Ten o'clock in the morning arrives, and the heat of the village has lingered at a balmy seventy-three degrees. The peculiar, nervous-eyed girl is beside Lawliet, her tiny four-foot frame seemingly miles beneath his stride. His hands are in the pocket of his robes, his eyes scanning around him subtly, his ears attuned to what she is saying.

"It was by that little stand that sells all the fruits and stuff," Hinata explains timidly, "because I was looking at the apples and, um…it was just down this way, I think."

She is terribly uncertain of where she is, but Lawliet's sharp mind has picked up the basic layout of the labyrinth of fruit stands, fabric stands, vegetable stands, stands of all sorts lining up along each side of the dirt path like soldiers. Two lefts, one right, straight, another left turn, weaving through the busy tributaries of people with lean legs and masterful memory.

"We need to turn right up here, Mr. Lawliet."

Her soft voice causes him to glimpse down at her momentarily before pulling one hand out of his robe pocket and scratching the back of his head lazily. "Noted, Hinata-kun."

Hinata gives him a smile, edgy, anxious, and quickly looks back down at the ground.

_She's an odd child…I should consider looking into her records to see where she came from, for I don't recall knowing of her until now…nevertheless, such a strange child-  
_

The boy.

Suddenly, Lawliet's thoughts are thrown to the back of his head for storage the second his eyes lay upon the pair of boys that are sneaking pieces of fruit into their pockets, looking around so as to avoid getting caught, just three stands down from where he is.

The escaped blonde child with all the hatred of the world in his eyes.

**...**

I love me some reviews, my lovely readers.


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